


Hands

by novacronums



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gift Fic, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novacronums/pseuds/novacronums
Summary: Skids has this thing where he likes to kiss Glitch's hands and Glitch loves it.





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassycatpants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassycatpants/gifts).



> So, like, months ago, I did a little giveaway and promised a fic to one of the winners and it's taken me forever to get it done because stubborn writing muses and life like to get in the way. This is long overdue, but finally done!
> 
> Warning for implied dubious consent in scene three.
> 
> **Edit:** Aaaa, [check out this awesome fanart shokveyv did for this fic](http://shokveyv.tumblr.com/post/166792618883/h-e-gav-e-a-gentle-kisss-omfg-based-on-this-fanfic)!

> **I.**

It _always_ hurt.

Glitch’s claws sting something _terrible_ after the latest session in the lab, yet another test of his powers. They’d been pushing his limits this time, seeing how long he could use his power before the strain became too much. The Senator was always encouraging the outliers to improve and control their extraordinary abilities, his curiosity ever-growing as his students excelled. Glitch, for once in his life, felt a sense of pride for the power that had caused him trouble before, had led to the Functionists taking his hands and face.

Oh, but it was _excruciating_ to push himself. This last experiment had nearly made him pass out and he’d needed to excuse himself from the lab to take a break outside in the courtyard. His claws trembled as he sat on a bench overlooking the Academy’s library across the courtyard and he tried to will the pain away, tips of his claws tapping at the joints that had replaced palms in an effort to make the stinging stop.

Black hands took gentle hold of Glitch’s claws, servos massaging at joints with a precision that Glitch could never manage on his own. Skids moved to sit on the bench next to him, turned to face the other mech as he pulled aching claws towards him for better grip.

“How bad is it?”

“Worse than last time,” Glitch replied. His head is ducked down, his single optic focusing on those merciful hands that worked to ease the throbbing pain. “But I lasted longer than last time.”

Skids slipped his fingers between Glitch’s claws, rubbing and smoothing over the mechanisms that had long ago replaced hands. A soft sigh escaped his lips. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. The Senator wants to know what you can do, but not at the expense of your safety.”

Glitch gave a nod, but they both know that he’d continue to push himself. They’d had this conversation before. He continued to push himself, both for the Senator’s approval and his own small sense of pride. His power had ruined his life before and he’d spent years hating himself for it, but with the Senator’s support, he’d begun to understand and accept his power.

He even wanted to _extend_ his power.

Even if it hurt along the way.

At least he had Skids to help when the pain became too much. Skids had been helping him for a while, shortly after the other mech had moved to Rodion from Nova Cronum and joined the Academy under the Senator. At first, Glitch had been wary when Skids had offered to help, having been distrustful of mechs he didn’t know, especially after he’d been reported to the Senate, who’d punished him by taking his hands and face through the practice of empurata. His new roommate, jittery and impulsive, hadn’t yet proved himself trustworthy.

As time went on, however, and Skids earned his trust and became his friend, he’d come to appreciate it more and more. They’d grown close surprisingly quickly, for Skids’ anxiety and Glitch’s wariness, but they bonded over a common interest in Golden Age literature – and getting into a fair bit of trouble. Despite Skids’ nervousness, he was just as much of a mischief maker as the other outliers the Senator had gathered and it extended beyond Windcharger’s pranks and into petty vandalism, as he showed the night the two of them scaled a building to paint a detailed spike into the mouth of Senator Proteus on one of his many billboards. They’d had a blast, up until they’d gotten arrested and the Senator had needed to pull strings to get them back to the Academy.

After a lecture, they’d been sent back to their dorm, where they’d talked together and admitted a growing mutual attraction. Glitch put more trust in Skids and bomped his mask against the other mech’s lips in the closest facsimile of a kiss he could give. Ever since that night, Skids’ help had been welcome when Glitch’s power became too much for him, as it was now.

“Feel better?” Skids asked, slowing the massage to a halt. Glitch nodded and Skids smiled before lifting his claws to press a soft kiss to each one. That was an addition to the technique that he’d added only recently, after they’d gotten together. “Good.”

It always hurt, but Skids knew exactly how to help and Glitch knew the pain was worth it.

> **II.**

It felt strange after all these years.

Glitch flexed the fingers of his brand-new hands, attached to his arms just that morning after years of bearing the claws that had been forced on him. The joints were stiff and his systems were still adjusting to the additions. He joined Skids after he left the med-bay and they’d decided to celebrate the successful restoration of his hands by going out for drinks, hitting up a small, fairly unsavory bar away from the Senate’s attention – the less chance the Senate had to find them, the better; they were, after all, considered fugitives after the Senator had been taken and the Academy burned.

Skids had gone to get the drinks, leaving Glitch in the booth they’d found in the dark, back corner. From his vantage point, Glitch could see most of the bar. It was dim, lights low to hide the faces of those who didn’t want to be found. Patrons muttered and whispered, glasses clinking and being slammed down. Over the din, he could hear the garbled notes of music – old music, the kind that no one truly listened to anymore and only played to fill the silence.

A note here and a note there, he recognized – a symphony heralding the light.

Ironic, and tragic, that it should play here in the darkness, to the unappreciative, drunken crowd. One day, Glitch hoped that _The Empyrean Suite_ would have a stronger presence in Cybertronian history than it had in this dirty era of turmoil and corrupt governments. Perhaps, one day, it would be known again, signaling the dawn of a new era, as it had when it’d been written.

Those thoughts and hopes would have to wait until Glitch had more influence on the future than he had now, just one of a handful of renegades that fought against the Senate under Orion Pax.

One day.

“So how do they feel?” Skids asked, returning and setting a glass on the table in front of Glitch.

“They feel good.” Glitch would have smiled, but, unfortunately, the medic who had given him his hands hadn’t been able to restore his face. Another time, another medic, perhaps. Glitch reached for the glass of engex as Skids slid into the seat across the booth -

\- and knocked it right over as his hand twitched.

Both he and Skids scooted out of the way of the spill and Glitch ducked out of sight as the glass rolled off the table and fell to the floor with a scattering crash. Skids waved off the glance of patrons who looked over in irritation. The bartender could be heard grumbling as they came over, rag in hand to clean up the mess.

“I-I’m sorry.” Glitch pulled his hands away from the spilled engex, tugging them close to his frame. He tucked his fingers together, much like he used to do with his claws when he felt vulnerable or embarrassed. He hadn’t done this in a few years now, having regained the confidence lost when he’d been forced through empurata. The habit came back suddenly as his confidence cracked with the accident. “I didn’t mean – I’m not…”

_Not used to my hands yet…_

He felt Skids sit next to him – he hadn’t been looking up to see the other mech move from the other side of the booth. Skids’ hand came up to rest over his clasped ones. Like he had at the Academy, Skids pulled Glitch’s hands gently apart, massaging lightly for a moment before bringing them up to press gentle kisses against new fingers. It felt strange, but in no way did it feel strange in a bad sense of the word – only in that these hands had never felt Skids’ lips against them.

“Don’t worry about it,” Skids told him. “Give it some time. You just got them back. It’ll take some adjustment, but you’ll have a grasp of it in no time.”

Glitch shifted his hands in Skids’ hold, slipping his fingers between the other mech’s. “That pun was unnecessary,” he replied. He leaned in and lightly bumped his faceplate against Skids’ cheek in his version of a kiss, regardless. “When we get back to base, I’ll show you what I’ll really have a grasp of, Skids.”

Skids smiled at him. “I look forward to it.”

It felt strange, but it was only the first day and Glitch wouldn’t give up on his new hands so easily. He’d spent far too long suffering with the claws to let one spilled drink discourage him now.

> **III.**

He’s not the mech he was before.

Small, weak, disfigured Glitch was gone, discarded millennia ago in favor of the imposing, awe-inspiring figure that was Tarn. Commander of the Decepticon Justice Division and warden of Grindcore, Tarn was everything that Glitch had never been - powerful, respected, feared. With his new power, new frame, and new designation, there was nothing to suggest any connection between Tarn and the nobody that he’d once been. No one would make the connection.

Except for Skids.

Skids and that incredible mind of his, with a memory like no other, which had long ago memorized Glitch’s voice from countless hours spent together. The one thing that Tarn had never changed about himself, for the power he now held within his voice, was the one thing that gave his identity away to the mech he’d once loved. He almost wanted to laugh, it was such a cliché.

But Grindcore was no place for such laughter and he had a use or two for Skids, since his old lover had found himself within the prison walls. There were certain skills that Skids possessed that would make Grindcore function properly again and Tarn knew exactly how to get Skids to do exactly what he wanted.

A proposal, a challenge, and a deal later and Skids played right into Tarn’s hand. Tarn needed the generator repaired and Skids never changed; give him a challenge and the right motive and the other mech was easy to manipulate. Oh, Tarn had no doubts that Skids knew he was being manipulated, but there was a certain willful blindness that Skids seemed to have when it came to Tarn – a sense of trust from their time together that Skids had not yet lost.

Tarn would gladly take advantage of that.

He had Skids working on the generator during labor hours and, while other prisoners were returned to their cells for the night, Tarn called for Skids to be brought to his office for a direct report. At first, he’d intended for things to be strictly business, with Skids being nothing more than another prisoner, but Tarn remembered all too well the other skills Skids had long ago mastered.

And the temptation was there, burning deep in his spark. Skids hadn’t changed as he had, still the faithful, the proud, the believer. Tarn could tell that Skids still believed in the mech that Tarn had once been, could see the glimmer of hope in the other mech’s gold optics.

He’s not the mech he was before, though, and Tarn would have Skids realize that.

He’d hated the hope that Skids had, the hope for a mech who no longer existed. Tarn had put his life as Glitch behind him long ago, when he’d joined the Decepticons and risen in the ranks. He hated the reminder Skids’ presence threw in his face, of a weak mech who’d been too afraid to take his destiny into his claws until he’d realized he’d never change under Orion Pax’s lawfulness and turned to Megatron’s words, where he’d found beliefs that echoed his own more closely.

Tarn would show Skids exactly what needed to happen for their world to truly change.

When the generators were repaired, another deal was struck, but Tarn had no intention of keeping his word. He led Skids to continue his belief that he’d transport the prisoners of Grindcore to off-world labor camps up until the moment Skids stood with Quark in the chamber and realized what it really was that he’d repaired. A moment later, Tarn had Skids transported from chamber to his office to watch.

The initial shock had Skids frozen and Tarn sent his officers out to give him a bit of privacy with his prisoner. He soon had his old lover pinned to his desk, one hand under the other mech’s chin with his claw-tipped thumb running over the imitation Matrix engraved on Skids’ cheek. _The Empyrean Suite_ played loud enough to drown out the death screams of mechanisms melting in the chamber overlooked by his office. Skids, still in a state of shock from the truth of what he’d really repaired, gave no resistance, leaving Tarn to indulge in the temptations that had resurfaced since Skids’ arrival.

He’s not the mech he was before - he enforces this as he coerces his former lover. He orders Skids to kiss his clawed fingers, the gentleness and nervous hesitations that Glitch had before gone. Only wicked purple hands wander over Skids’ distracted and eager body, taking pleasure and inflicting pain where Glitch’s hands had once worshipped.

> **IV.**

It was all over – and all for nothing, as Megatron had taunted him.

Everything that he’d fought for was taken from him in the end; his name, his reputation, his life. He’d given himself and everything that he was to the Decepticon cause, followed Megatron’s training and orders, sacrificed attachments and discarded weaknesses to become Megatron’s greatest asset and general, leader of the DJD. All for nothing.

Nothing, like the blinding white nothingness that surrounded Glitch’s small, weak, shuddering frame. He’d never really believed in the Afterspark, always thinking that it seemed little more than the wishful dream of mechs afraid to die, the desperate hope of those who feared there was nothing after life. The latter, it appeared, had been right to fear, for even in the Afterspark, Glitch had nothing. None of the strength, none of the influence – nothing but this all-encompassing emptiness and the knowledge of everything he’d lost.

Perhaps, after everything he’d done, this was the Afterspark he deserved.

Why would he, a murderer of countless, deserve anything more than this white void? He’d tortured, slaughtered, burned, and decimated hundreds upon thousands of lives, both mechanical and organic, following the cause to which he’d dedicated his life, as it grew from revolution to annihilation. _Find, cleanse, kill_ – the DJD’s motto as they went down their list of names. Names that meant nothing in the end, names that he no longer remembered, names that he didn’t care to remember.

There was only one name that came to him, one mech who Glitch wished desperately to see, and he wondered if this Afterspark he’d found himself in would torment him with the one who had once meant everything to him.

Skids.

He hadn’t thought much of Skids during the battle, though he’d known the other mech was on that planet, with the Autobots that had taken refuge in the Necrobot’s fortress. In his anger towards Megatron and his betrayal, he’d thought of little else than killing his former leader. He’d seen the hologram depicting Skids switch off, but he hadn’t thought of what it had meant, hadn’t cared, hadn’t given it a second glance.

But now that he thought about it, he was certain that it meant Skids had been killed. Had he been anywhere else, if he’d been anyone else, the thought of Skids being dead wouldn’t affect him as greatly as it did right now. Tarn hadn’t cared enough about Skids to hurt when he’d lost him – Glitch did.

Here in this white void, Glitch had never felt loss as deeply as he did now, as he realized that he was alone – Skids wasn’t there, not in this horrible, empty place. Why would he be? The only terrible thing that Skids had ever done had been because Tarn – because _Glitch_ – had manipulated him into it. If the tales of the Afterspark were really true, then Skids would be somewhere better, somewhere warm and welcoming.

That was the afterlife that Skids – kind, warm, caring Skids – deserved.

Knowing that didn’t ease the pain. Glitch’s hands grasped at his chest as he curled up in the nothingness that surrounded him. He tucked his head down, optics closed as he trembled. Of all the awful things he knew he’d done, condemning Skids to the horrors he had was the worst of them. If he was sorry for anything he’d done as Tarn, it was hurting Skids.

Skids, who’d loved Glitch when he’d thought no one would give him a second glace because of the empurata.

_Skids_ , who’d trusted him at Grindcore because he wouldn’t give up hope that the mech he loved was somewhere behind Tarn’s mask.

**_Skids_**.

Glitch’s fingers curled on themselves.

It was all over – and Glitch had lost everything that had meant anything to him.

“Skids, I’m sorry.” Glitch couldn’t apologize for much that he’d done, wasn’t sure he _would_ apologize for it, but for Skids, he’d beg forgiveness, even though he was certain he didn’t deserve it. Skids deserved an apology, wherever he was, whether he could hear it or not. “You were always the better one of us, the one who never gave up on me. I took advantage of that and used it to hurt you, to _make_ you give up on me.”

The white world around him shifted, shimmered, and visions of Skids surrounded Glitch. Skids, as he’d met the mech at the Academy, jittery and shy, gentle black hands folding at his torso and Imitation Matrix carved in his cheek. To the right, Skids as he’d known him during their time as outlaws with Orion Pax – harried and jaded, but still kind and loving. The next vision was Skids as he was at Grindcore – battered and injured, windows shattered and panels scuffed, defiant in his captivity to a point Tarn had both admired and hated.

The last vision of Skids was the same figure he’d seen among the Autobots on the Necrobot’s planet. There was no Matrix carved in his cheek, the symbol discarded with his faith after Tarn took it from him at Grindcore. His frame was battered again, by the attack Tarn had ordered. Golden optics were sad and scared, hope lost.

Glitch looked at this last Skids, the one who’d died because of his attack on the Autobots. If he was going to be haunted by Skids, the least he could do was try to apologize, give the only apology he cared to give. Hesitant, he uncurled and reached out for Skids’ hands.

Surprisingly, the shade of Skids reached out in return – Glitch had expected it to be a stoic visage, one that wouldn’t respond to him. Glitch took Skids’ hands in his – his own, original hands, hands that had never touched Skids in either love or anger – and lifted his gaze to the other mech’s face, blue optics meeting gold for the first time.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” Glitch wouldn’t say this to anyone else. Only to Skids, the only one who mattered, in the end. “I used you. I manipulated you. I took something important away from you.” Glitch offlined his optics, unable to look at Skids. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. I don’t think I deserve it.”

Skids’ thumbs ran over the rust-red hands that held his, a smooth, slow motion that Glitch had always loved. Glitch slumped and leaned in to touch his helm against Skids’ as the other mech gently massaged his hands. “Why are you still so good to me? I hurt you.”

“Because I love you,” Skids replied. Glitch gave a start at the sound of his voice – this _was_ just a vision, sent to torment him, was it? The touches from Skids and the closeness of the two of them had Glitch confused, but Skids nudged his helm to press a brief, light kiss against lips that had never felt his touch. “I always did. Yes, you hurt me, but I still love you. And you can make it up to me. We have all the time in the Afterspark for that.”

“I shouldn’t be here. There’s a hell out there for mechs like me.”

“There’s one out there for mechs like me, too,” Skids replied. He pulled Glitch towards him. “But we’re here and not there. Here we can start over.”

“You’re real, aren’t you?” Glitch asked, leaning into Skids. At the nod from Skids, he rested his helm against the other mech’s shoulder. “After everything I did, why would you want to be with me here, when there’s a paradise waiting for you?”

Skids shook his head and kissed Glitch’s helm. “Paradise? It’s nothing. How could I go there, if the mech I love isn’t there with me?” He squeezed Glitch’s hands, then pulled him along, through the white nothingness. “C’mon. The next life will be better for us.”

Glitch followed Skids out of the nothingness and into the light, as Skids raised his hands up to his lips, kissing his fingers as he’d done so often before, when they were lovers not yet torn apart by war and change.


End file.
